


Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?

by Halrloprillalar (prillalar)



Series: Vodka Tonic [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Hotel Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prillalar/pseuds/Halrloprillalar
Summary: After the Cup of China free skates, Georgi finds Christophe waiting outside his hotel room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> They will not let me go. <3
> 
> Sequel to [Stairwell](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8609839).

There's someone waiting by Georgi's door and for a flicker of a second his hopes rise. But one step closer and he knows it's Christophe.

Georgi touches his face before he realises it, then snatches his hand away. He's been doing that all day.

He hasn't been thinking about it, _hasn't been thinking about it,_ because skating, because Anya. But his face was sore when he woke up this morning and after he'd blinked and yawned, he remembered the scratch of Christophe's beard against his cheek and the grip of Christophe's thighs around his cock. And he looked at his own morning hard-on like they didn't know what to say to each other any more.

He doesn't know what to say to Christophe either. Christophe unleans himself from the wall and watches, just watches, as Georgi takes one step after another down the awkward hotel hallway.

Georgi stops before he gets to the door, leaves some space between them. "Fuck off."

"No," Christophe says. "I don't plan to."

Georgi's chest is starting to tighten. His whole body is sore, from skating, from falling, from the dagger in his heart. "I'm not drunk," he says.

"You weren't drunk yesterday." Christophe steps forward and takes the key card from Georgi's fingers. "Were you? Not drunk enough to blame it on."

_What do you want?_ Georgi almost says but he doesn't want to hear the answer. "Give that back."

Christophe just looks at Georgi, looks him up and down, half a smile on his face.

"You bastard!" Georgi grabs for the keycard, swears in Russian, gets his hand around Christophe's wrist.

Christophe transfers the keycard to his other hand. He leans closer and lowers his voice. "We can stay out in the hall if you like." Christophe's breath is hot against Georgi's cheek, his thumb is rubbing the inside of Georgi's wrist, just where Georgi can feel his pulse jumping.

He wrenches away. "Are you in love with me or something?"

"Georgi!" Christophe says, in a voice as big as his ego and just as fake. "Don't be that way!" He pounds his fist against the door, twice. "Take me back!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Georgi grabs for the key card again and this time Christophe lets him take it. He stares at Christophe and Christophe stares back, the half-smile dropping off his face.

Christophe takes a step away from the door. He spreads his hands like he's giving up but he doesn't walk away.

Georgi can't get coordinated, the card in the slot, turning the handle in time. He gets it on the third try. He opens the door, flips on the light. The hair is pricking up on the back of his neck. His heart is broken but it's also pounding, in his ears, in his throat. _Fuck it,_ he thinks and steps further into the room. He doesn't let go of the door.

"Well?" Christophe says.

Georgi turns to face him. "You have to be invited?"

"Maybe."

"You're the one waiting outside my door." Georgi is closing the door, watching it swing shut in Christophe's face, except that he isn't, he doesn't want to, and he's afraid Christophe knows it.

Christophe puts one hand on the doorframe. "Invite me in."

"You want it so much, you son of a bitch," Georgi says, "then come in."

"You're the one who wants it." And Christophe crosses the threshold and the door swings shut behind him.

Georgi braces himself for Christophe's hands on his body, for Christophe's weight to tumble him back onto the bed. But Christophe just runs his hands through his hair and puts his phone down on the bureau.

"Nice room, et cetera," Christophe says and takes off his jacket, his shoes. He pulls his shirt over his head.

The key card is cutting into Georgi's palm. He's frozen, staring at Christophe. Christophe undressing in Georgi's hotel room.

Christophe drapes his shirt over a chair back. "What are you waiting for?"

It's so different from before, from moving through that baijiu haze, letting Christophe pull him along into the darkness. Georgi's made a mistake, a huge mistake.

"I didn't bring a bottle, if you need to get your nerve up." Christophe walks over to the bedside table and picks up the photo of Anya Georgi put there, where he can see her face every morning and every night. Christophe turns it face down. "Or did you want her to watch?"

Georgi's stomach lurches. "Quit trying to make me forget her!" He strides over to Christophe, reaches out to shove him, fight him, throw him out the door. "I'll never forget her!"

But Christophe grips Georgi's arms, holds tight as Georgi twists. "I don't care if you forget her. Just shut up about her." He lets go and stands there, his mouth open a little, breath heaving through his bare chest. "Just shut up."

It's not Georgi who moves next, it's _not,_ but someone does and then they're kissing, Christophe's beard scratching Georgi's face again, Christophe's tongue sliding into Georgi's mouth again, Christophe's fingers undoing the buttons on Georgi's shirt.

Georgi doesn't know where to put his hands, on Christophe's bare shoulders, on his back. He's still deciding when Christophe pushes him back to pull his shirt down. The cuffs catch over his hands and he remembers all the times Anya tied his hands behind his back, teased him until he was nearly crazy. Christophe just yanks the shirt away and drops it on the floor.

"Take off your pants," Christophe says. He's unbuckling his own belt and unzipping his jeans. He pauses. "This is not a service I'm going to provide. Just do it."

"Don't tell me what to do," Georgi says. But there's a hot coal glowing in his brain, in his gut, in his dick, burning holes through him like a cigarette through a favourite sweater.

He kicks off his shoes, takes off his pants, his socks. His underwear. And while he does, he calls Christophe every terrible name he can think of, all in Russian.

"I like your energy," Christophe says. Naked Christophe.

Georgi didn't look at Christophe's cock last time and he doesn't want to now. So he's the one to bear Christophe down onto the bed, eyes closed, kissing on the duvet.

Christophe moves his thumb across Georgi's throat, runs his other hand down Georgi's side, over his hip, up his back. "Touch me," he says.

Georgi reaches down. It was okay before, it will be okay now. But Christophe catches his wrist.

"Not just my dick." He pulls Georgi's hand to his chest, presses it over the breastbone. "Touch me like you want to."

Georgi feels his hand lift and fall with Christophe's breath. "Why do you have to talk about this?"

Christophe doesn't answer. He stares into Georgi's eyes. He takes his hands away, stretches them over his head. Keeps staring.

"Fuck you," Georgi says and looks away. But he curls his fingers into the dark hair on Christophe's chest. He rubs his thumb over Christophe's nipple, runs both hands over Christophe's sides, up into his armpits, down onto his belly, his thighs.

Christophe leans into it and touches Georgi too, rolls him over so they're side by side, legs sliding together, Georgi's mouth on Christophe's throat, Georgi wanting more before he can ask himself why.

Christophe slides his hand up Georgi's chest, pulls on the chain around his neck. Georgi jerks back. "Don't."

"Let me." Christophe reaches around Georgi's neck.

Georgi sits up and moves so they're not touching. "No." He holds the pendant in his fist and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he undoes the clasp and sets it on the bedside table.

"Finally naked, Vodka Tonic," Christophe says.

"Don't call me that," Georgi says. "Everyone is calling me that now."

Christophe pulls Georgi's knees apart, slides both hands up Georgi's thighs. Georgi shivers, with the heat and a little with the cold.

"Whenever anybody calls you Vodka Tonic," Christophe says, "just think about this." And he goes down on Georgi.

Georgi's dick jerks, his back arches, he grabs a handful of the blanket. And he rolls his eyes, not from bliss, but from how Christophe — Christophe with his lips sliding over Georgi's cock, with his fingers cupping Georgi's balls — somehow makes giving a blowjob all about himself.

He's flicking his gaze up at Georgi, taking his hand off Georgi's cock to run through his own hair. Ridiculous. Ridiculous but still Georgi's cock is getting sucked and it is very good.

Christophe pulls away far too soon. He squeezes the base of Georgi's cock. He leans in and kisses Georgi, hand in Georgi's hair. Georgi wraps one hand around Christophe's throat and grabs Christophe's ass with the other, because this is what he does now: grapples with Christophe, rubs his face on Christophe's body, and likes it.

"Okay," Christophe says. "Now fuck me."

Georgi stops with his face in Christophe's shoulder. It's not what he expected Christophe to say. Not what he expected Christophe to want from him. "Now?"

"Now. You've at least done this before, right?"

"With a woman." A girlfriend when he was twenty-two, always wanting to try things, always more new things, until Georgi himself was no longer a new thing.

"This is better," Christophe says.

So Georgi fucks Christophe with lubricant from the bedside table drawer and a condom from the back pocket of Christophe's jeans, one hand on Christophe's hip, the other reaching around, trying to get the rhythm, the slide of his cock and the slide of his hand.

Georgi likes to cover the sounds of sex with music, the smells with flowers in the room, likes dim lights and a satin robe. But that's for someone special, not for fucking another man in a hotel room in China, not for Christophe fucking Giacometti.

"Harder," Christophe says. "Shift your hips down and put your back into it." He adds something in French, repeats it as he moves back against Georgi. His hands are clenching the sheets, his dick is like iron in Georgi's hand, he's beginning to shake, muscle cramps or ecstasy.

_What are you saying?_ Georgi wants to ask but he's almost out of breath and he knows Christophe won't tell him.

Georgi shifts his hips down and and puts his back into it. His muscles are screaming, his body is covered with sweat. But inside of him the wheel is turning, gathering slack, pulling everything tight, tighter, tighter.

He clenches his jaw, digs his nails into Christophe's hip. He feels the line snap inside of him, and he comes, the heat running over his body. His face twists. Christophe spits more French into the sheets.

"Don't stop." Christophe drags Georgi's hand back to his dick. It takes half a minute more to get Christophe off, Georgi's cock still softening inside of him.

Georgi sits on the side of the bed after he pulls out. He ties off the condom, drops it onto a tissue. He sees himself in the mirror, flushed face, bed hair. A dark suck mark on his shoulder.

Christophe pulls him down and rolls over him, arm and leg pinning him to the bed, Christophe's face against Georgi's neck. "You don't want to get over her," he murmers, mouth on Georgi's ear. "You like the pain."

"She'll come back to me," Georgi says. Christophe's body is warm and heavy, clammy with sweat.

"Maybe she will," Christophe says. He bites Georgi's earlobe, then climbs off the bed and gets dressed. "The Trophée de France..." Christophe picks up his phone, slides it into his pocket. "Book an extra day."

Georgi picks up the pendant and fastens it around his neck. "I've already seen the Eiffel Tower."

"So have I, Georgi." Christophe grins. "So have I." The door closes behind him.

Georgi puts Anya's photo back up and goes to shower.

+

In the morning, Georgi blinks and yawns. He rubs his hand over his jaw. He stares at his hard-on. Then he turns the photo over and opens the drawer.


End file.
